


reading between the lines

by xandrillia



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Authors, F/F, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Miscommunication, but in a fun way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xandrillia/pseuds/xandrillia
Summary: “Hey, wait— what’s your name?” she calls, half-hanging out the train's side door. A harried man rushes past Mermista, blocking her view of the woman on the platform below. She catches a glimpse of a pink hat and raised hand just before the doors close, strawberries-knit gloves blurred in warm amber streetlights as she waves, but her voice is lost to the wind, and the train pulls away.
Relationships: Mermista & Perfuma (She-Ra), Mermista/Perfuma (She-Ra)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	reading between the lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeserai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeserai/gifts).



> happy holidays everyone!! this is for the whispering woods library end of the year exchange, & ik you already know this because you set it up, but hi Bri i'm your secret santa :)

“She outsold you.”

Mermista, slumped over her desk, doesn’t move at her agent’s voice. There’s a sigh and shuffling papers, a pause before Catra accepts that they actually have to talk about this. Catra would  _ clearly  _ rather be anywhere else right now, and Mermista can’t help but agree. A warm beach, maybe— that would be nice. Or the bottom of the ocean, far away from Salineas’s cold, soulless winters. Away from people, too, especially those seeking to ruin her already fab-fucking-fantastic day. She really needs to stop looking at social media during work hours. And block her ex. And delete their number. 

...and decline that invite to the NYE party they’re sure to at least stop by if they don’t somehow manage to host or some shit. God, Mermista really needs a break.

“Mermista. She out—”

“I know.”

Catra sighs again— it’s impressive just how apathetic she can make it sound— and drops into a chair across from her. There are two quiet  _ thunks _ as she puts her feet up on the desk. Mermista doesn’t even have the energy to tell her off.

“I hate my job,” Mermista mutters, closing her eyes. Catra scoffs.

“Quit,” she dares, sounding like she couldn’t care less. Mermista glares into the desk.

“I could, you know.” It would be better than dealing with this  _ mysterious _ new author who has now taken Mermista’s top slot on Salineas’s bestsellers list for the eighth time in as many weeks. She’d popped up out of nowhere a few weeks back, their only advance warning a lax email to Catra about a potential competitor. She had dismissed it with a wave of her hand and Mermista had gone on her merry way, writing death and  _ real _ mystery instead of whatever bullshit this lady was trying to pull.

“Do it,” Catra says, pulling Mermista from her thoughts. “One less thing on my list. I’d still get paid, you know,” she adds, jotting something down on one of the files she always has with her.

“What do I do?”

“Try romance,” Catra suggests. Mermista sits up.

_ “What?” _

She shrugs, eyes darting over the papers. Catra looks more tired than Mermista would have expected, frowning slightly at her notes, her bun mussed from running her hands through her hair one too many times. She glances up at Mermista with a scowl.

“What?”

“You seriously want me to write romance?”

“May as well. It’s the holidays, princess. People want ‘happy,’ not another death.”

“We’re not talking about ‘romance,’ Catra, this is  _ murder.” _ She slams her hands on the desk for effect, nearly upsetting her water bottle. Catra steadies it with a glare, moving her papers out of reach.

“Duh, did you forget that’s your whole problem?”

Mermista groans, barely resisting the urge to bang her head on the table. “Fuck.” Catra laughs.

“Exactly.”

-

(Mermista can’t admit it, but she  _ has _ read the other books. She also can’t admit that she teared up on page 16, and again basically every chapter onward because  _ dammit  _ she is  _ not _ a romantic but there’s something about unrequited love that just really hurts, okay?)

-

Mermista leaves the office early, waving goodbye to Catra and nodding to Lonnie across the hall, the other author her firm works with. The three of them run things on their own, one of the two Bright Moon Publishing offices in the city, the other across town busier and where the small company’s owner— Bow Kings, a friend from college— works. It’s a small business, maybe thirty long-term employees, and Mermista’s fine without a massive corporate eye watching over them— they get shit done on their own.

Well, they do when Mermista isn’t getting constantly upset from her Salinean Bestsellers top slot, but that’s, like, not a problem right now. Well, it will be for Morning Mermista, but it’s evening and she’s letting herself have as much of a break as she can.

Outside, snow drifts down in waves, fluffy flakes catching in her hair and dark scarf. She shoves her hands in her pockets as she walks to the subway, wind whipping her coat around her knees. Blinking against the wind, she ducks into the shelter of the station, relieved to be out of the wind’s reach.

Pushing her hood down, Mermista checks the time, and she thought she left early but nope, that’s her train, doors hissing shut and people stepping back from the tracks.

“Wait!” she shouts, like anyone is going to care enough about some stranger to look up from their phone and stop the door for her, but she  _ really _ doesn’t want to wait the twenty minutes surrounded by damp concrete and chilled drafts waiting for the next one. Against all odds, a hand shoots out, pink glove catching the door. Mermista takes the opportunity and darts through the doors as they clang shut, finding herself face to face with a woman in a green peacoat. She steps aside to let Mermista through, smiling softly.

“Thanks,” Mermista pants. She grabs a pole as the train lurches forward, nearly sending her tumbling into the woman before she catches herself. The woman raises a hand to steady her but falters when she catches her balance, instead dropping her hands to her pockets. Red strawberries embroidered into thick-knitted gloves peek over her pockets, bright reds and greens matching holiday banners decorating the city streets. The colors are nicer, somehow, here under the fluorescent lights of the cramped train car, people jostling past them. Mermista blinks, caught in a moment of confusion.

“Of course,” the woman says lightly. “Not the kindest day to be stuck outside.”

Raising an eyebrow, Mermista nods slowly. “One way to put it.”

Humming happily, the woman bounces on the balls of her feet. Blonde hair falls to her waist from under a soft pink hat, nose and cheeks matching the rosy color. She glances at Mermista once, twice, from her sea-green knit scarf (courtesy of a friend’s family member, kind but a little overbearing, and just enough slightly-unhinged wine aunt vibes for her to be  _ exactly _ the kind of person Mermista loves to hang out with) to her tennis shoes, white and similarly green and coated in gray slush. She straightens and subtly adjusts her coat under the woman’s gaze. Overhead lights flicker dimly, dark shadows and grimly subway tunnels rushing past behind the glass doors over the woman’s shoulder, spray paint flashing bright-dark-neon-black.

“Um—”

“Mermista, right?”

She blinks. “Yeah.”

The woman beams, clapping her hands together quickly. “I just  _ love _ your books, you know, and the last  _ Mer-Mystery _ was delightful!”

Caught off-guard by anyone describing an assasination attempt as ‘delightful,’ Mermista listens completely dumbfounded as the woman rattles off the plot and theories for the next book, a duology in the making. It’ll be another year before she publishes it, but damn if the woman isn’t spot on. Is Mermista getting predictable? Shit, Catra’s going to  _ kill _ her if she finds out—

“...my stop! It was truly lovely speaking with you,” the woman says cheerfully, reaching for Mermista’s hands. “And I hope to see you again soon!” The train slows to a stop, doors hissing open. In a moment of clarity, panic jolts through her as the woman steps away, blending into the evening crowd.

“Wait— what’s your name?” she calls, half-hanging out the sliding doors. A harried man rushes past her and another slams her shoulder, making her lose sight of the woman. She catches a glimpse of the woman’s pink hat and a raised hand just before the doors close, strawberries under bright lights, but her voice is lost to the wind, and the train slides forward.

-

“Morning,” Lonnie calls, already having forgotten her coworker the moment the word leaves her mouth. She and Mermista have a long-standing agreement: neither makes small talk, and neither has to suffer. Mermista wonders what would happen if she died on the spot. Maybe Lonnie would notice— it’d be more exciting than  _ how are yous _ and  _ nice weather this morning, isn’t it? _

In her office, Mermista throws her coat over an extra chair, eyes catching on a brightly-colored pamphlet on her desk, red with gold lettering proclaiming a  _ Wonderful Holiday Event for the Whole Family! _ It looks like homebody shit, to be honest, a ‘meet the author’ thing she’d normally shoot herself in the foot rather than attend. Catra appears in the doorway a moment before Mermista can ask, coffee in hand and scowl in place.

“Publicity,” she says bluntly. Mermista groans.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Get with it or get left behind.” With that, Catra disappears, all sunshine and optimism as usual. Mermista considers chasing her down to dump her coffee over her head but ultimately decides against it; her day is going horribly enough without Catra seeking revenge.

Come to think of it, it hasn’t been that bad. She’d taken the subway as usual, and would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t searched the passengers for a familiarly-unfamiliar face. She’d even only put in one earbud instead of two, paying attention to overlapping voices, wondering if she’d hear sugar-sweet compliments instead of crude complaints.

Annoyed at her own (slight) infatuation with a stranger in a city home to three million, Mermista sets aside the pamphlet and tries to clear her head. 

-

_4:48 pm_

**_catra_ **

_ someone’s here _

_ for u _

_ by name wtf _

_ istg if you’re the reason i stay late on a friday i promise i will get away with your murder _

Before Mermista can respond to the incredulously threatening texts, three sharp taps sound at the door. She looks up from her phone, surprised to see Catra in the doorway, an easy smile on her face. No— her  _ agent _ smile, similar to the plastic ones newly hired cashiers and waiters wear, but much,  _ much _ stronger. Oh no. Only the worst can bring out that nice of an expression on Catra. Mermista braces herself as Catra waves someone in, ready for some huffy boss or pissy customer, and blanches upon seeing...a fourteen year old?

What the hell?

“Hey,” the girl greets her, sticking out a hand. Mermista stands to shake it, taking in the girl’s... _ eccentric _ attire. Man, Mermista is going to have to tell Castaspella about her. This kid is  _ punk. _ Her hair is chopped erratically at her chin, held back by an ice-blue headband covered in dark sharpie drawings. The same drawings decorate white jeans and once-white converse, the only thing unmarred her puffy blue jacket that probably wouldn’t hold the ink. Even her fingers are marked with dark tattoos, all which Mermista are instantly jealous of because there’s absolutely  _ no way _ her parents would have let her get tattoos so early. The kid raises an eyebrow.

“I’m Frosta,” she says, and Mermista realizes she’s been staring at the tiny beheaded stick-figure snowmen on the girl’s hands for far too long. She grins.

“Mermista,” she responds. “What can I do for you?” Behind the girl, Catra rolls her eyes and leaves, clearly done with whatever this kid is selling. Frosta glances around her office, decorated sparsely with scattered pictures of her friends and a small shelf of her favorite books next to the window, the view outside showing the banks of the Whispering Waters, a wide, lazy river running through the center of the city. Frosta tears her eyes away from the half-frozen banks to Mermista, narrowing her eyes.

“Not me, my aunt. She said you’d know her— from the  _ Plumeria _ series.”

Mermista’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding. Your aunt is the f— the mystery author?” The kid scoffs at this and drops into a chair, ankle over her knee.

“Not exactly a mystery, but yeah. She wants to meet you,” Frosta says. She pulls a marker from her pocket and starts doodling on her shoe, adding to a complex constellation pattern along her heel. Mermista watches her connect the dots to form Cassiopeia, feeling slightly dazed.

“Okay,” she decides. “When?”

“The meet and greet. Tomorrow.”

_ Tomorrow? _

“She’ll be there, and wanted to talk business, you know.” Frosta shrugs and flips the marker over her fingers, eyeing the starburst-filled jar on Mermista’s desk. She pushes the candy toward the kid, thinking over the prospective ‘business’ ideas this woman could want to talk about. Some sort of deal? A collab? No, people don’t just do that, especially without knowing each other. Maybe Mermista will convince her to leave the city so she can have her slot back.

“Yeah, I get that,” she says aloud, knowing she’s clearly distracted. Frosta hums as she picks out the yellow starburst and dumps them in her pockets.

“Cool. She’ll see you there?”

Mermista sighs and picks up the pamphlet, checking the time. 7pm, formal attire, open invitation. Frosta raises an eyebrow.  _ Great, _ Mermista thinks, and agrees.

-

The train is quiet. She keeps her hood down, wind painfully sharp against her face, risking tear-blurred eyes to seek anything other than blue-gray-black and boring faces. There’s nothing. She pretends not to be disappointed, and turns her music up to drown out her thoughts on the walk home.

-

_ 9:51 am _

**_catra_ **

_ formal _

**_mermista_ **

_ please??? ill literally never ask for another favor again _

**_catra_ **

_ that is a lie and u know it _

**_mermista_ **

_ it’ll take like an hour tops _

**_catra_ **

_ no im busy _

(Mermista knows calling Catra on  _ that _ lie is as worthless as it is counterproductive, but she has to do  _ something. _ Catra is the only friend Mermista trusts to pick an outfit that’s not gaudy as hell or disgustingly festive, but she’s ‘too busy’ at 10AM on a Saturday to spend one—  _ one _ — hour with a friend desperately in need, especially when it’s for a hell on Etheria  _ meet and greet _ , of all the things she could be forced to attend. She feels like a middle schooler reluctantly attending their little sibling’s first-ever band concert.)

**_mermista_ **

_ pls im actually going to die _

A typing bubble appears and falls away. Is this hope? Are these the rays of sunshine over a battle reigned by endless night? Might she stand a chance?

No, she doesn’t.

**_catra_ **

_ entrapta has a friend _

**_mermista_ **

_ no _

**_catra_ **

_ shes cool ill send u her number _

**_mermista_ **

_ catra i do NOT trust entrapta’s taste in fashion dont you dare _

_ ill just go alone _

**_catra_ **

_ Contact: Pink. 030-1... _

Mermista  _ seriously _ considers dropping her phone out the window before she clicks on the contact, but she’d be damned if she had to go shopping for ‘formal’ wear on her own. She’s fine at these things in theory, but in practice, she would rather hurl herself into the sewer and become friends with Pennywise, if nothing else for a quicker death. She sends a quick thank-you to Catra (‘i hate you’) and types in the new number, hoping against all hope that this person is somehow someone she’ll get along with, although Mermista’s sure she and Entrapta don’t have similar tastes. A response pings back a moment later.

**_pink (?)_ **

_ I would love to! Meet at Mystacor in 20? 🥰💓 _

**_Mermista_ **

_ yeah, thanks a ton _

Mermista grabs her coat, and, cursing to herself, runs out the door.

The train is crowded, again, and the woman is there, again.

“Hi,” Mermista says, nudging a scowling teenager out of her way to stand next to her. The woman smiles. Her hair is back in braids today, though she still wears the soft pink hat, strawberry gloves replaced by white and yellow roses today, paired with a navy coat.

“Hi.”

“So…” Mermista trails off, rocking back on her heels. “I didn’t—” something jabs her side and Mermista jumps, turning to shoot her best glare at the annoyed teenager she’d pushed aside.

“You’re standing in my bubble, lady,” they complain. Mermista rolls her eyes, but honestly, she’d been about to hit the woman with a  _ I didn’t catch your name, _ so maybe she should be grateful she didn’t get the chance to. The woman laughs and tugs her elbow, leading her off the train, which is mainly surprising because they’re at her stop. She spins to face Mermista when her feet hit the platform, weaving backward between groups of people.

“C’mon,” the woman says, pulling her along. “Formal wear, huh?” Slowly, things click into place as they take the stairs to the street. Mermista bites back a smile.  _ So this is ‘Pink,’  _ she thinks, trailing behind. Mermista notes small daisies sewn into the hem of her coat, yellow centers shining like miniature suns. 

They make it three blocks downtown before they’re able to talk again, twisting through hordes of chatty kids and evil-eyed moms hell-bent on finding the best holiday specials in amber-lit stores. Mermista falls in step next to her, wandering past boutiques in silence before she realizes the woman’s following her lead.

“Anything in mind?” Flowers— roses, daisies, and her perfume is of lavenders— asks lightly. Mermista shakes her head and steers them into the next shop they see, a small blue boutique labeled  _ Snows. _ Halfway over the threshold, they freeze. Everything is high-collared, ankle length, and as shapeless as a plastic bag. They step away in tandem, back into the bright midday sun. Luckily, the next store is better.

“Happy...holmium?” Flowers asks, holding up the  _ ugliest  _ sweater Mermista has ever seen in her life. It’s borderline a crime to even acknowledge its existence, bruised purple with bright yellow boxes outlining three boxes labeled ‘Ho,’ each topped with black and white santa hats. Mermista nearly throws up.

“Here. Oh my god. Give it to me, she’s going to  _ love  _ this,” Mermista laughs, holding the sweater up to the light. Glimmer, on the other hand, will kill Mermista for furthering her aunt’s crazed chemistry teacher madness, but that’s a wrath she’s willing to face.

“You...like chemistry?” Flowers asks, watching bemusedly. Mermista shakes her head.

“No.” She considers explaining, but, honestly, “...it’s a long story.” Flowers grins and moves on, drifting through the rows. They talk as they wander, and Mermista’s a little too nervous and flustered, but just enough that Flowers can’t stop smiling so she can’t either and suddenly she feels like she’s back in high school, giddy and crushing over a cute girl who smiled at her a little too kindly.

So they talk and wander, and settle on a seafoam sari for Mermista from a sweet shop littered with candy-colored lamps. Flowers leans over the counter to speak with a cashier and returns with gold-colored hoop earrings to match the gold threads lining the fabric. They stop by the vendors and wander the city streets as mid-morning turns to a bright winter’s day, and as the lights eventually flicker on in gold and white. Mermista learns she grew up in the countryside and attends Salineas’s University as an ag major, minoring in veterinary studies and creative writing. Mermista asks about her books and Flowers laughs her off with a blush, fingers trailing through the air dismissively.

“Trust me. You don’t need to hear any more about it,” she reassures, and when she drops her hand, she laces her fingers with Mermista’s. She tells stories about her family back home, a little sister and two brothers. That she has always loved gardening and secretly kept special places for the fairies to visit when she was little, leaving spoonfuls of sugar sprinkles over green leaves and bright petals. Mermista laughs but can’t tell her it’s because of her nickname, instead steering the conversation back to the memories. The sun touches the horizon when they find their way back to the train platform, brilliant pink and orange burning bright in the visible sky between buildings.

“So...I’ll see you around, then?” Mermista asks, kind of hating how her voice pitches up in hope and kind of not really caring because she’d really like to spend more time with Flowers, whenever possible.

“Of course.” Flowers gives Mermista a strange look before she leaves, hopping on a different train home, a flicker of confusion darting across her face before she’s out of sight. Mermista frowns and decides to ask later,  _ after _ she gets her name from Catra. It’s a tiny blip in an unexpectedly sweet day, but nothing of any real concern. She checks the time— an hour and a half until the party, and somehow, it doesn’t seem that bad.

-

**_catra_ **

_ bad news _

_ plumeria lady will b there _

**_mermista_ **

_ what?? _

_ i thought this was small _

_ catra _

_ tell me its a small thing _

_ like just a few people _

_??? _

_ (Read ✓ 6:23) _

-

It’s not as terrible as she would have thought, Mermista muses, eyes wandering over the gathering before her. It’s a collection of authors, publishers, all from Salineas, most of whom she’s never gotten the chance to meet. Fairy lights decorate bookshelves (because of course it’s hosted in a bookshop), filling the room with a warm glow. Soft music plays from the speakers overhead, something christmassy with bells and a choir. Someone appears at her side and Mermista jumps, fumbling her drink.

“Jeez, Bow, scared the shit out of me,” she mutters. He holds his hands up apologetically.

“Sorry, but hey— you know that other author we’ve been battling recently?” Mermista rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, heard all about her. Why?”

He grins, unfazed as always at her slight hostility. “She’s here! And really cool, too, I think you’ll like her.” He holds out his arm to her and they weave through the crowd to the far side of the room. Bow points her out, but before he can introduce them, Mermista waves him off.

“I got this,” she says. He raises an eyebrow and gives her a quick toast before disappearing into the crowd.

“How the  _ hell  _ do I keep running into you?” Mermista asks. Standing at the fireplace and staring into the flames, clearly zoned out, Flowers— Perfuma, because how would Mermista  _ not _ know her competitor’s name— jumps. She relaxes when she sees who it is.

“Must be meant to be.”

Mermista hesitates a moment, unsure on how to pair the woman before her with the (probably really rude) image she’d had in her head of the other author. She pauses, and— “Hey, what did Frosta mean by ‘talk business?’”

“I wanted to get dinner,” she says brightly.

They ditch the party. 

-

They end up on the back steps of a cheery cafe a block from where Catra’s surely looking for Mermista, shivering in the light snow, hands laced between them.

“You seriously didn’t know it was me?” Perfuma asks again, as though Mermista having to embarrassedly explain that she hadn’t known Perfuma’s name that morning wasn’t enough one time over. “My picture is on the book, you know.”

“It was a paperback, okay? I thought you were cool.”

Perfuma hums, trying not to break into laughter. “I see.” For a moment there’s comfortable silence besides the muted sounds of life inside the cafe behind them, jostling and energetic.

“Look,” Mermista says, pointing. “Mistletoe.” White-dusted leaves hang on a thin piece of twine across the street, strung across a small alley. It spins slowly on the thread, carried by a light breeze. She looks to Perfuma, absently watching the leaves twirl.

“You know, that’s actually holly. Mistletoe is a weed.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” Perfuma nods, passing the last bite of her dessert to Mermista.

“Yes. Although they’re both pretty stories.”

“Pretty stories, yeah?”

She nods, and Mermista thinks that hey, maybe the winters aren’t so bad when she gets to be so near to Perfuma’s warmth.


End file.
